“‘Then you would be sorry to give her pain, I know, and your present course of conduct is sure to do that if you don’t mend. You would be sorry to see your mother take handfuls of her small income and fling it into the sea, would you not?’
“‘Of course I would, sir,’ said I, still more surprised.
“‘Well, you have caused her to do that, for your school fees might as well have been flung away for all the good you have done hitherto. But come, I’ll say no more just now. I feel sure you will try to do better. You have only got to try, asking God to help you, and you’re certain to succeed. I expect to be proud of you yet, Jacob. There, be off and play.’
“I was somewhat touched by this brief reproof, but not humbled. The lecturing tone assumed by Turner still rankled, and a feeling that I deserved severer treatment than I received, made me worse. I resolved to harden my heart; and from that date became more mischievous and domineering as well as idle—if possible. I saw that the master was grieved, but did not care.
“One day in autumn, some of us were sitting on a rail swinging our legs and chatting. Turner was not there, but little Spinks was.
“‘I tell you what,’ said I, referring to a remark made by one of the boys, ‘I think it is not only contemptible to try to learn one’s lessons, but ridiculous.’
“‘I’d rather learn them than get whacked,’ said one.
“‘Well, I would rather get whacked than learn them,’ said I; ‘besides, of what earthly use are Latin and Greek, I should like to know?’
“‘Fellows can’t get along in the learned professions without them,’ said a boy whom we named Tiddler. He was a follower of Turner, and usually kept pretty near him in the class.
“‘Very true,’ said I, with a look of mock respect; ‘but as none of us intend to enter the learned professions except Doctor Tiddler and Professor Turner, we don’t want Latin or Greek; what we want is fun.’